I always figured that the first time I ate quail, it would happen because I’d spotted it on the menu at a restaurant I trusted to do the tiny things up right. Instead, my first time came about because while I was at A & H Seafood buying a suckling pig to cook for Christmas dinner, I peeked into their freezer and spotted packages of frozen quail. And since I’m not one to pass up the opportunity for a new culinary experience, I picked up two packages.

Why not just one? If you have to ask, you must not know me very well.

Each package contained six quail, and they weren’t very impressive when frozen. Squashed together as they were, they looked like nothing more than a solid lump of frozen meat, giving no sense of what they once were.

But after a few days of thawing, each quail—weighing in at about 4.66 ounces, if the gross weight of the package can be trusted—because a bird again. And looked kind of cute, if you ask me.

I plucked a recipe from my all-time favorite cookbook—James Beard’s American Cookery, which is so well-written that it’s worth reading even if you have no intention of ever cooking anything.

I chose the simplest recipe, not because I wasn’t up to a challenge, but because I wanted to taste the quail meat itself as purely as possible, unmasked by too heavy a sauce or too flavorful a spice. So after some butter, salt, pepper, and little else, plus 20 minutes in a 450-degree oven, here’s what I ended up with. (more…)

I only had a chance to make a single submission to Hardware, which billed itself as “The Magazine of Technophilia.” I apparently ran out of time to make further submissions, because I now see that Hardware only published two issues.

I remember very little about the magazine, but it must have been a decent market, because I see it published contributions by Paul Di Filippo, Robert Frazier, Bruce Boston, Jonathan V. Post, and other names you’d recognize.

All I ever sent editor Jimm Gall was one poem titled “Friends,” no copy of which currently exists. The rejection slip below is all that remains.

The last time I saw Jerry Robinson—who created The Joker and suggested that Batman’s sidekick should be named Robin—was in July at the San Diego Comic-Con. He was in Artists Alley, surrounded by admirers. I unfortunately had work to do, with no spare time to wait in a line, so we didn’t get to speak. But he looked happy, and I was glad to see he wasn’t being ignored. Luckily, that happens a lot in both science fiction and comics—our elders, our living treasures, are often swarmed.

The last time I had a substantial conversation with Robinson, however, was in 2008, also at the San Diego Comic-Con. And one of the things I did during that conversation—without meaning to, I assure you—was make him feel old, by telling him about the first time we’d met—on January 5, 1972.

If you’re a comics fan of a certain age, that date will have meaning for you. If not, let this refresh your memory …

Robinson wasn’t there to be part of the show. Instead, he was in the audience, likely looking forward to a relaxing evening with his peers watching the Marvel Bullpen crack themselves up on stage. Until the annoying 16-year-old that was me came along to mess up his plans. I assume I recognized him from one of the two comic conventions I’d been to previously—the 1970 and 1971 Phil Seuling July 4th weekend cons—and so I came forward, thrusting my sketchpad and marker toward him. (more…)

A new month has begun, so as usual, it’s time to gather together my dream tweets of the previous month to see whether they gain any added value from rubbing up against each other. Guest starring in November were celebrities I’ve never met, such as Steve Tyler, Mandy Patinkin, Heather Morrison, and John Goodman, plus friends like Geoff Landis, Cory Doctorow, Stan Robinson and Mary Robinette Kowal.

And who knows? Maybe you, too.

Check out what my subconscious delivered.

NOVEMBER 2011

I dreamt I was a Revolutionary War artist, advising a promising young woman. A flash forward revealed she would become great and famous. 30 Nov

I dreamt we were house hunting, and found a lovely place to live, except for the fact there weren’t enough outlets, which was disappointing. 30 Nov

I dreamt I was being held hostage until a sonic bomb went off that blew out the eardrums of my captors without affecting me, and I escaped. 30 Nov

I lost a dream because I no longer know what this middle-of-the-night note means: “too many smokers unlivable—cross street [illegible]” 29 Nov

I dreamt my son and I performed parkour on an alien world, eventually ending up by a replicator so massive it was used to create spaceships. 29 Nov

I dreamt my father and I were in China surrounded by pyramids of dim sum. He seemed tired, so I offered to serve him, but he helped himself. 29 Nov

I dreamt my name popped up on several suspicious persons lists, and I was being hunted by (and successfully eluding) Mandy Patinkin in NYC. 29 Nov

I dreamt Geoff Landis was visiting, rehearsing his presentation for a patent application he needed to make in person. And I gave him tips. 28 Nov

I dreamt I ran into Walter Jon Williams, then saw Stan Robinson and Melinda Snodgrass. “Is there a con going on I don’t know about?” I said. 28 Nov

I dreamt I found a gumball machine into which I could insert a huge Mercury Head dime and get two or one or none in return. I won 50 cents! 28 Nov (more…)

I had a 10:30 appointment yesterday over in Maryland to meet with—well, never you mind—and unfortunately, a rock slide prevented me from getting there in time. Oh, don’t worry, no Harpers Ferry boulders got me! But a tractor trailer wasn’t so lucky. It apparently swerved to avoid a rock slide and went through a guardrail on Route 340 near Harpers Ferry between the Potomac River bridge and the Shenandoah River bridge—cutting me off from getting over to Maryland.

I was at a dead stop for more than 90 minutes. When the rubble was cleared, traffic finally started moving again, and I caught up with the scene of the crash, here’s what I saw.

I’d have slowed for better video, but I had an idea that neither the police nor the frustrated drivers behind me would have been happy about that!

I arrived in Maryland MUCH later than I should have … but that’s a whole ‘nother story.

After taking care of business (or rather, learning that I’d arrived much too late to properly take care of business), I decided to try out Kraze Burgers, a Korean hamburger chain which had just opened its first location in the U.S., a fact I’d learned from a recent article in the Huffington Post. I was wondering how it would compare to Reno’s Awful Awful burgers or my all-time favorite, the Thurman burger. (more…)

I dreamed about my father this morning, which made sense, because today is his birthday, and he was supposed to have turned 79. I write “supposed to,” because he died on January 27, 2009.

In my dreams, I never know that, though. When I see my grandmother Grace in my dreams, I’m always initially confused, and ask her, “Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” To which she always replies, “Yes.” And then I shrug, let it pass, and we go on with whatever else is happening in the dream.

But when I see my father in my dreams, I’m never confused, never think he should be dead and wonder why he’s still alive. I’m just happy he’s there, and that we’re doing together whatever it is we’re doing.

But he’s not here today, so we can’t do anything together. At least … not when I’m awake.

Because I can’t think of anything better to say to commemorate him, I’ll share again what I posted back on February 3, 2009, a week after his death:

My father, Barnet “Barney” Edelman, seen with me below in our last picture together, passed away one week ago today.

He had been ailing for quite a while from a variety of illnesses, including congestive heart failure, but what finally took him from us was either polymyositis or dermatomyositis. Though his agonizing symptoms seemed consistent with one or both of those, his doctors were never really sure, as he was not responding to any medications. As his body withered, his many physicians were puzzled, and wished they had a Gregory House on staff to solve the medical mystery. (more…)

Half an hour ago, I was outbid for a unique piece of comics memorabilia. Such a thing had never been sold before, so I had no way of gauging its value or eventual price. I was willing to pay a couple of hundred bucks, but it ended up going for $1,000, far too rich for my blood, especially considering the plans I had, about which more below.

So what just sold for $1,000? Why, this—

Any idea, before you scroll down, exactly what that is? Well, yes … hair. Anyone could tell that.

But whose hair? (more…)

Mike Davis over at Lovecraft eZine already shared my news about Wilum Pugmire, but for those who don’t read his blog and only know of Wilum’s condition due to my own previous post, I thought I should take note of it here as well.

I phoned Wilum (seen below at World Horror Con 2008) last night, and he sounded in much better sprits—and much stronger— than he had Sunday night. His voice was steadier, and he was more easily able to engage in conversation.

He’d been visited in the hospital yesterday by S. T. Joshi, Jessica Amanda Salmonson, and a couple of others, and they all arrived at the same time, which he says was fun, though a bit tiring.

He also said he’s been undergoing lots of tests, and is waiting to learn whether the doctor will sign off on the results. He was hopeful that he’d be released this morning at 9:00 a.m. (that’s Seattle time), but added that he probably won’t know anything definitive until the morning. (You know how hospitals can be—you often don’t know until the last minute whether or not you’re really going home.)

He also said that he’s thankful for all the good wishes, and apologized in advance for the fact that he won’t be strong enough to respond to each one individually. When he gets out, he’ll try to do one brief video blog (you can find his YouTube channel here) letting us know that he’s home, and then rest.

So let’s keep our fingers crossed that all goes well today.

I’m not sure exactly when I received this rejection slip from Charlie Ryan, because for some reason my records don’t reflect any submissions to Galileo. But since the magazine was only published from 1977-1980, there’s a very small window during which this could have been generated. Also, since I’d never have sent him a horror story, my possible submissions were few.

In any case, here’s another example of a rejection slips from a dead magazine that should allow all you writers out there to revel in some schadenfreude.

Charlie went on to publish Aboriginal, yet another of his magazines I never cracked. I liked Charlie, and remember fondly a number of Indian dinners we shared during the earlier days of Readercon.

There haven’t been any such meals in quite awhile as our paths no longer cross—he’s gafiated and is now the editor of The Willimantic Chronicle.

Michael Davis, who runs the Lovecraft eZine, reports that Wilum Pugmire was hospitalized on Thanksgiving due to heart problems, and has been given a distressing diagnosis.

According to Mike:

He told me that the prognosis keeps getting worse each day—the doctors are, in his words, treating him like a terminal patient. He said he honestly does not know if he’s going to die or not. However, he’s in really great spirits. He told me that if he does die, he has accomplished everything he set out to do. He had the goal years ago of wanting to be known as a Lovecraftian writer, and he feels he has done that. I replied that not only has he accomplished it, but that I agree with Will Hart—he is the world’s greatest living Lovecraftian writer.

He has a relative bringing him a couple of Lovecraftian books tomorrow—he says if he dies, he wants to do it with a Lovecraft book on his chest.

In addition to being a wonderful writer, Wilum is also a heck of a lot of fun to hang around with, which we did a lot of during the 2008 World Horror Convention in Salt Lake City (among other places):

I’d been hoping to see him again in March when the WHC returned to Salt Lake City. And I’m still hoping. What do doctors know anyway? After all, Cthulhu wants Wilum healthy, and Cthulhu chews up doctors and spits them out. (more…)